Project 137.43.M.D.

VII. | AB INTESTATO

VII.
AB INTESTATO
(by intestacy)

Hermione was leaning against the worktop in the kitchenette, waiting for the tea water to reach the boiling point. In the meantime, she contented herself with watching Malfoy inspect the small flat she had led him to. His eyes were flitting intently over the modest furnishings, but his expression remained impassive and betrayed none of his thoughts.

If she had known him any better, she might have tried to find out if he was already having doubts about the story she had fed him. But she didn't know him any better, so there was little point in worrying about what he might be thinking. He wouldn't make it any easier for her by bluntly telling her what was going on in his head, of that she was sure.

When the whistling of the teakettle announced that her grace period was over, Hermione suppressed a deep sigh. She grabbed the two mugs she had found in one of the kitchen cupboards after opening several drawers and poured the tea. Then she turned around, only to instantly flinch.

Malfoy had approached her silently and was now standing only a few steps away from her. At her startled expression, he quirked a lazy eyebrow.

"No need to panic, Granger," he scoffed, reaching for one of the two mugs.

In lieu of a quick-witted reply, Hermione merely shook her head, causing her curls to bounce. She didn't want Malfoy to get the feeling that she was inattentive, and she certainly didn't want him to think that his presence made her nervous. Both would be bad for the professional relationship she needed to build with him if she wanted to do a good job.

Suddenly feeling the urgent need to get the conversation over with and end this blasted day as quickly as possible, she cleared her throat and pulled a manila folder out of her handbag.

"Well, Malfoy. This is the schedule in which you'll find all of our mandatory meetings that are coming up in the next few weeks. Most of them are examinations at St Mungo's and important appointments at the Ministry that I'll be accompanying you to."

As she spoke, she slid the parchment across the kitchen island. He lowered his eyes to it.

"These few meetings are non-negotiable. Of course, I'm always available if you have any further questions or need me for anything else. Additional appointments are perfectly feasible."

"I have to go to St Mungo's three times a week?" he asked incredulously.

He let his eyes wander over the appointments that Hermione had neatly colour-coded for him. Her last sentence, however, he completely ignored.

"Physiotherapy," she said curtly, but the look on his face told her he didn't know what that meant. Tsk, wizards.

For once, it wasn't a lie. Malfoy hadn't had a Quidditch accident that required so many consecutive check-ups at St Mungo's, but his long stay in Azkaban had weakened his entire musculoskeletal system. The healers wanted to ensure that he actually recovered from the hardships of imprisonment and regained weight at a reasonable rate. It made perfect sense to examine him so frequently, especially in the first few weeks.

"It's about getting your body re-accustomed to higher levels of physical stress," she began to explain, inspecting her fingernails so she wouldn't have to look him in the eye. "They'll give you recommendations for fitness training, show you special exercises for your back, check your general condition and carry out weight controls. They want to make sure that everything is developing normally now that you're no longer under constant medical supervision."

Hermione found that watching her choice of words all the time wasn't as easy as she had thought it would be. She wasn't used to keeping such a huge secret from someone who was supposed to trust her.